


These Endearments Speak My Heart

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine whispers sweet nothings before he pulls down Merlin’s trousers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Endearments Speak My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



When Merlin looks at Arthur, he’s reminded of golden-bright, shining sunlight. And like the shining sun, Arthur is untouchable—which is as far as Merlin allows his daydream to go. Everyone knows it’s impossible to get close to the sun. Merlin’s heard the story of Icarus, and what fate befell him. He keeps a respectful distance, no matter the temptation to risk a burn or a fall.

None of Merlin’s friends, indeed, no one else Merlin knows, is fair and radiant like Arthur. 

Lancelot is dark and warm, like ample folds of fur by a winter fire, like mulled wine laden with spice, like a long night beneath a summer sky. He’s within a reach of sorts, though not Merlin’s. Merlin doesn’t possess the right currency. If he did, if he should unexpectedly find himself with the right kind of riches to wrap himself in the likes of Lancelot, to drink him down and lie beneath him, he suspects it would be more magical than, well, magic. Typically, Merlin isn’t given to these flights of fancy, not really, but Lancelot, beautiful Lancelot, is just standing there naked; the tanned skin on his back is glistening with a sheen of sweat and his face is tilted up to the sky like he’s the one about to take off, fly.

Gwaine interrupts Merlin’s reverie.

“Bloody show-off. Acting all nonchalant like it’s perfectly normal stop wading in when you’re only knee deep into the water. He said he was going swimming.” Gwaine plops down on the grass next to Merlin, close enough their thighs are almost touching. “What’s he doing, anyway—admiring the view?”

“I think that’s what we’re doing.”

They guffaw loud enough Lancelot turns around and nods in their direction. Merlin catches a glimpse of his cock, thick and bronze, crowned with raven hair. Lancelot is a god amongst men.

“I’ll give him that,” Gwaine muses, licking his lips, “he’s a fine specimen.”

Things that Merlin hardly dares to imagine, let alone utter out loud, seem to fall off Gwaine’s tongue like honey dripping off a spoon. As if to prove the point, Gwaine says, “I wonder if he’s ever dropped to his knees for another knight. I bet they’re lining up for a taste of his meat.”

“Shush, he’ll hear you.” Merlin blushes, and grins with embarrassment for Lancelot, for himself, but not for Gwaine. Gwaine never gets embarrassed. He’s peeling off his tunic and flexing his shoulders. Merlin can’t help but swallow thickly because Lancelot might be handsome, but there’s no denying Gwaine is gorgeous, and his half-naked proximity alone is thrilling. Gwaine slings his bare arm around Merlin’s shoulders and Merlin gets a waft of his scent. Merlin’s cock stirs; it’s a small mercy he was too shy to remove any of his clothes except the scarf around his neck.

Like Merlin, like Lancelot, Gwaine is dark, too. But Gwaine is dark in a way Merlin doesn’t fully understand. He’s laughter beyond a closed door, in the dead of night, deep in the castle, when everyone else is sleeping. Gwaine is by turns mischief and mystery and Merlin doesn’t quite know which one he is right now, his face closing in on Merlin’s, beaming and feral, warm-brown eyes sparkling.

“Come with me.” Gwaine’s lips brush the lobe of Merlin’s ear, his breath sending sparks down Merlin’s spine. “Leave Lancelot to his … whatever it is he’s doing. He seems quite happy by himself.”

Merlin doesn’t know what game Gwaine’s playing as he’s sliding his hand up Merlin’s thigh, dangerously close to discovering what all those folds of fabric are hiding. Want. Lust. Desire. Merlin has all these things by the bucketful. At times, pulling on his cock until it’s sorely abused and his balls are aching and emptied, even that’s not enough to sate him. Merlin craves. He’s just not sure yet what he craves. He thinks on what Gwaine said about the knights, and wonders if that’s something Gwaine said to make him blush or if that’s actually a thing that men like to do. He thought _cocksucker_ was an insult, and doing it a debasement. He’d never dare ask for such a thing, though the unintentional thought creeps in that the slip of a wet cunt and a wet mouth might not be all that dissimilar, except for the tongue part. Not that he’s had the pleasure of either.

Gwaine is touching Merlin’s neck with the back of his fingers, oh so softly. Merlin shivers. Gwaine says against the shell of his ear, “I would really like to see how far down that flush goes. Are you flushed pink all the way down, Merlin, or are you perfectly pale?”

This time Gwaine has gone too far or maybe not nearly far enough, and suddenly Merlin needs to know which it is. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Fine. I won’t.” 

Gwaine jumps up to his feet as Merlin’s heart falls. Merlin looks at his knees and smoothes the thinning fabric of his breeches over the knobbly bones. He knew it. It was a joke. He knew Gwaine couldn’t possibly—

“Come on, then,” Gwaine is sniggering, hooking his hands under Merlin’s armpits and tugging him upwards. “Unless you want me to suck you off here, where Lance can see you?” 

“No.” Merlin gets up too quickly, spins on his heels and reels, dizzy from a lack of air and desire. “You’re serious?”

Gwaine nods his head then takes Merlin’s hand and pulls him through the thicket to a tiny clearing. He undoes Merlin’s belt, lets it drop, takes the hem of his tunic and lifts it over Merlin’s head. Merlin wriggles free and stands there, giving Gwaine a chance to make his assessment, to change his mind. 

“Well, look at you,” Gwaine says, hands on hips, looking inordinately pleased. “Whoever said you were all skin and bone wasn’t looking carefully enough because I can see you most definitely are not. Lie down. There we go.”

Merlin’s not sure he can believe this isn’t all some fantastic ruse, or a trial of some sort, or a torment, because nothing he’s ever wanted has come this easily before—nothing. Despite his interest in Gwaine’s hungry look, Merlin’s curious to know, “Who said that I was all skin and bone?”

Gwaine prowls over him, musing for an instant. “I don’t remember. No one important.”

Merlin tries to ask like it’s a jest, like he’s just there for the tumble and doesn’t care for the affection. “Are you going to kiss me?” He’s already shored up to the turrets by Gwaine’s silly talk—he doesn’t expect anything more. 

“Oh _yes.”_ Gwaine slides down alongside Merlin and runs his fingertips lightly over Merlin’s lips. “What you do to me, with your big, blue eyes, and your smile.” He pauses and plants the most fleeting of kisses to the corner of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin gasps and turns his face, chasing Gwaine’s lips with his own. Gwaine continues tenderly, his hair falling forward, framing that strong, masculine face. “I’m at the mercy of your charms.”

Merlin has no idea what that even means. No one else has ever mentioned Merlin possessing anything that could remotely be compared to charm. Oh, he’s been told he’s loyal, sincere; endearing in a clumsy sort of way. Even Arthur has, on occasion, expressed a fondness for his foibles. But charm? That’s for the likes of men like Lancelot—not a scruffy, scrawny manservant, whether or not he’s secretly harbouring power over the elements. All he’s presently capable of is holding onto Gwaine, around his waist, and letting him know in no uncertain terms, with a firm kiss to his mouth, how very amenable he is to everything Gwaine’s about to offer.

Gwaine leans over, his bicep flexing, tensing as he wraps his arm around Merlin. He kisses Merlin, at first with gentle lips and the merest caress of his tongue. Merlin opens his mouth and drinks him down, tangling his fingers through the wild locks of Gwaine’s chestnut hair. Gwaine is strong, every solid inch of him moves with the same purpose; his thigh pushing into Merlin’s groin, sending out spikes of arousal that make Merlin quiver.

Merlin has to heave his chest for every breath, while Gwaine sucks at his neck and murmurs, “So good, yes, so good,” and, “Gods, Merlin you’re so, so, so…” Merlin doesn’t need to hear the rest, isn’t listening to Gwaine’s words as much as he’s hearing noises which make his cock swell and throb, and his balls twitch.

Merlin might not have had much practice, but he’s not completely ignorant, in spite of the tiny voice in his head that says _don’t make a fool of yourself._ By the way Gwaine is grinding his hips against Merlin’s thigh, he’s loving every stroke of Merlin’s fingers up and down his back, over his arse and, yes, Merlin does have the guts to pinch and stroke his tiny, dark nipples. It makes Gwaine shudder, and in turn makes Merlin desperate for more.

If Gwaine were to rub his palm over the bulge of Merlin’s hardness, he might spill in his breeches . But he doesn’t want that, not with the promise of Gwaine’s offer. “Please,” Merlin gasps, pushing Gwaine’s shoulder downwards, rolling up his hips. With one hand he attempts a fruitless tug at the knot in his breeches that won’t pull free. 

“It’s all right.” Gwaine stills Merlin’s shaking fingers with his hand and says, “I’ve got it.” He crawls down Merlin’s body, sucking and nipping mouthfuls of flesh as he goes. He pauses over the bulge and looks up at Merlin as his fingers work deftly, freeing the knot and loosening the laces. Merlin blinks, unable to focus, to concentrate on anything except how much he wants to be touched. 

In a brief moment of panic, not wanting to spill too quickly or perhaps breach some etiquette he’s not aware of, Merlin pants, “I haven’t—”

“I didn’t think so. This is your first time with anyone?” He’s matter-of-fact though Merlin senses an air of triumph about him, and he’s not sure if that’s because Gwaine knows he’s right, or if he sees Merlin as a conquest. Merlin doesn’t much care. His cock is so stiff it’s aching and nudging up his linens.

“That obvious?” 

“Merlin, dear Merlin. Always giving, never taking what he wants. Of course it’s your first time. Well, let me tell you, you’re in for a treat.” Gwaine grins and it’s mad and outrageous. Merlin should probably be afraid, except Gwaine is being very gentle, cautious maybe. He kisses Merlin’s knuckles and the tips of his fingers and Merlin is undone, just by that. Then he kisses the tip of Merlin’s cock and says, “You’re okay, me doing this?”

“Fuck, yes. _Yes._ ” The air feels thin and Merlin’s lungs won’t fill. He sucks in hard, over and over, and faster each breath, as Gwaine pulls Merlin’s breeches and linens down. Gwaine drags them all the way down to the tops of Merlin’s boots then crouches over him on his knees, astride Merlin’s thighs.

With his fingertips, Gwaine lifts Merlin’s cock, pulling back his foreskin, and puts the head in his mouth. Then he sucks Merlin down.

“Oh _fuck_.” The exclamation escapes Merlin’s lips unbidden. “Don’t stop, don’t you stop.”

Gwaine does unimaginable things with his mouth and tongue. Merlin is unable to distinguish, to know exactly _what_ it is he’s doing as his head bobs up and down and filthy noises erupt from his throat. All Merlin knows is that his cock is enveloped with wet heat, throbbing with the barrage of pressure and pleasure. He’s almost sobbing with how good it feels, until he’s gasping and bucking his hips up and spilling into Gwaine’s mouth. And still, Gwaine doesn’t stop until Merlin is squawking, “Okay, stop now. Too much, too much.”

When he catches his breath, Merlin lifts his head in time to see Gwaine, on his elbow and knees, his hand wrapped around his cock. Merlin urges, “Gwaine,” as he reaches his climax. Thick, white spatters of come paint the tops of Merlin’s legs. Merlin threads his fingers through Gwaine’s damp hair and with his thumb strokes his brow. He’s dripping with sweat behind his neck, breathing heavy and fast. 

“You’re a dark horse, Merlin,” Gwaine whispers to his inner thigh, his lips brushing slowly over his sac.

“Me? Like a horse?” Merlin scoffs, because he’s seen what the average stallion is packing between the legs and to liken his attributes to that of a horse is more than flattery, it’s downright ridiculous.

“A dark horse, love,” Gwaine murmurs, before his tongue darts out and tracks a thick vein the length of Merlin’s cock. “Someone who does something surprising, unexpected.” 

Merlin’s getting hard again, which is something he hadn’t expected. The rest, well it’s mainly Gwaine’s doing, because aside from having magic, Merlin knows he isn’t much gifted in the way of dishing out surprises.

 _Hang on._ “You called me …” Merlin doesn’t say it. It’s foreign and strange enough to his ears. His mouth and tongue can’t seem to form the shape, his lungs don’t have the air to push out—

“Love.”

How does Gwaine do it? How does he make it all seem so easy? 

Gwaine shoves his cock back in his breeches and settles next to Merlin, on his side. He’s using Merlin’s scarf (his scarf!) to wipe away the mess of his spilled seed (he _swallowed_ Merlin’s and Merlin doesn’t even know what to make of that). “Your cock, by the way,” Gwaine says, “tastes divine.”

Merlin laughs from deep in his belly. “You don’t need to woo me.” Merlin rolls onto his side, not caring his arse is still bared to the wind. He closes his eyes and dares another kiss.

Gwaine is solid, steady and constant, pushing Merlin back down and lying half over him. Merlin feels like he might melt into the ground below. 

“Look at me, Merlin.” 

Merlin opens his eyes. Gwaine is staring. 

Merlin doesn’t like the scrutiny. Gwaine’s face is very close and he’s completely unabashed in the way he keeps looking at Merlin. He says, “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

Merlin expects Gwaine, this time, to be teasing but when he searches his eyes, for that brief moment he can manage before he has to look away, fire burning in his cheeks like his heart has been set aflame, he sees something he recognises as sincerity. Gwaine has spoken in earnest and Merlin can’t begin to fathom it. It makes him tremble. 

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes you are,” Gwaine says, back to his old self, tugging on Merlin’s earlobe. 

The feeling lingers though, and Merlin takes a fistful of Gwaine’s hair thinking at first he’s going to pull his face down for another kiss. Instead, he holds Gwaine’s head in place and wants to say something stupid like, _“Promise me you’ll stay in Camelot. Don’t leave.”_ Of course, he can’t. So he says, “I want you to fuck me,” because that’s what real men do.

“Not here. Not now, flower.”

He’s doing it again and now Merlin barks out a laugh. “I’m not a girl."

“No, definitely not a girl. All the same, your first time shouldn’t be a rush-job in the woods.”

Merlin traces swirls through the cooling moisture on the skin on Gwaine’s back. “Come to my room tonight?”

“I couldn’t refuse you anything, Merlin. You should know that—you only have to ask.”

Merlin does know it, now, in a way he hadn’t before.

 

When the three of them make their way back to the castle, Lancelot is diplomatically silent. Merlin catches what he thinks is a knowing smile. It’s got to be a giveaway; he can’t wipe the grin off his face and Gwaine doesn’t help, skipping alongside him, whistling and flicking out his hair into the breeze.

 

Later, in the quiet of the night, Gwaine snuffles in his sleep and wraps his arm possessively over Merlin’s chest. In his head, Merlin hears the echoes of Gwaine’s endearments; they make him smile into the darkness, and send his stomach fluttering.

The things Gwaine said—he’s probably said them a thousand times before to every one of his lovers. There’s probably a legion of lonely hearts scattered to the four winds, waiting on Gwaine’s return. Merlin would bet a year of his non-existent wages on it. 

But Merlin doesn’t dwell on it. No matter that Gwaine might have uttered those endearments before, maybe to countless others. Because Merlin feels in his heart, knows in his bones, when Gwaine spoke them to him, he meant every word.

**Author's Note:**

> A week ago, marguerite_26 held a fest— _someone being naked made them do it_. Here’s the prompt, and here’s the late fill. Hope you like it, alby_mangroves! (Not beta’d but hopefully it’s not too ugly.)
> 
> Fic can also be found [on my livejournal.](http://planejane.livejournal.com/148327.html)


End file.
